


In Hiding and In Love

by mormoriarty



Series: Fraying at the Edges [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Blind Character, F/M, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mormoriarty/pseuds/mormoriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another creative writing prompt:<br/>Rewrite the story where the blind woman goes to her new boyfriend’s apartment, but this time write it from the boyfriend’s point of view. The boyfriend is not blind, so you can use visual details. But don’t forget about the other senses. The apartment belongs to him, so although he can see it, he is not paying attention to the details in the same way that the woman is. It is all familiar to him. On the other hand, he is paying attention to her. He is attracted to her physically and notices details about how she looks. Make the reader see these details. Also: as the blind woman begins to suspect that he’s married, he notices a change in her behavior. He is watching her reactions closely, so show the reader what he sees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Hiding and In Love

Today is the day I’m going to ask you, I decide. I’m going to invite you home with me. We’ve met a couple of times, and so I shouldn’t feel so nervous about it, but Grace, you’re something different.

 

The first time I saw you, you were poring over a book laid out on a table at the coffee shop.

You have a cup of coffee next to you, and I’m all set to pretend-stumble into you and somehow end up getting your number. I sneak a look and am surprised that the book you’re reading looks blank. Surprised, until I see your cane. It was like one of those “light bulb moments”. For real though.

So you’re blind. So I’m married. But _oh_ _God_ , you’re beautiful. Like I’m-not-trying-too-hard sort of beautiful, an I-roll-out-of-bed-gorgeous kind of thing. I mean, you probably can’t try too hard, unless you have help, right? God, I sound pretentious. Sorry, Grace.

You don’t look blind, I mean, I probably wouldn’t have guessed so quickly without seeing your cane or Braille book.  You don’t have milky cataracts or giant sunglasses; instead, big, beautiful forest green eyes. They look like emeralds, with little gold flecks that I see as I walk closer. They must be at least mostly unseeing, but they’re very mysterious. As you sit leaning over, every so often wavy strands of dark brown hair fall into your face. The sunlight streaming in from the windows of the café reflects off your honey-coloured highlights, making you look somewhat angelic.

I’m afraid to approach you, I am. I have no idea how to treat a blind person, and once again, I’m married. It couldn’t hurt to have you as at least a friend though, right? The next part’s a bit of a blur- I guess somehow I manage to be smooth and we get to talking. _Grace_ , you tell me your name is. It somehow seems fitting. I make you laugh; a beautiful, glorious sound like the tinkling of bells coming out of your mouth. _Could you be any more perfect?_

I keep forgetting that you’re blind until you make me describe myself, and then I stop nodding and start saying things like _“yes”._ I get the impression that you probably used to be able to see.

We talk till our coffee goes cold, till most of the café tables are empty, till you ask me what time it is. You say that you have to go home, but that you’d love to meet again. I’m thrilled, of course. You’re lovely. And beautiful.

We make a date- _yes,_ a date, and that’s how it all starts.

 

Today, it’ll be the fifth time we’ve met, always at the coffee shop. I dress up a little more than usual, pulling on a grey blazer over the usual (this time blue) button-down. Before leaving for The Bean, I run a comb through my brown curls before remembering that these details don’t matter, you won’t be able to see me anyway. I suppose it’s my way of boosting my confidence. As I’m putting the comb down, I knock over something off the counter- Jenna’s hairspray.

Suddenly, it hits me.

 _This is wrong, this is so wrong._ No, no, no. I can’t be meeting with you and dating you and wanting you while I’m still married. Granted, I’m unhappily married and have been looking into divorce, but still, I can’t do this to Jenna. But I’m pretty sure Jenna’s been going out too. There’s a pain in my chest every time I think about it. I do have my suspicions, but this is still wrong.

But _oh_ _God_ , you have to know I want you so much.

I’ll ask you today. I’ll ask you to come home with me. I don’t care about Jenna. I don’t love her anymore and she sure as hell doesn’t love me.

 

I try to tidy up and put most of Jenna’s things away- not that they’re all over the place. We sleep in separate rooms now and your possessions have long since been relocated. It’s just those evenings where we casually manage to eat dinner civilly and then watch telly together with glasses of wine, and somehow everything seems okay when we go to bed. But then the façade is broken by morning or maybe days later, when you’ve left the bed cold on your side and are out of the flat without a single goodbye for the day. Or the week.

I never can figure out what it is that sets you off, makes you realize we can’t keep this charade up. You must stay at someone else’s place, I guess. It’s happened enough for me to sense a pattern.

 _Oh._ _There’s that pain again._

 

I tell myself that it’s okay; it must be okay since Jenna doesn’t seem to care what the hell I’m doing. She’s probably doing the same. I mean, normally, we just leave each other to our own devices; tersely speaking when spoken to and barely acknowledging the other with a nod as we brush by to get down the hall. Our once-fiery arguments and shouting matches have turned to bitter silence as we wait for the other person to take action first.

 

My thoughts guiltily still on the topic of how wrong this could all be considered, I arrive at the coffee shop, seeing you at our regular table in the corner. Full of anxiety, I chat with you until I can’t bear it.

“Would you like to continue this at my place?” I ask you, picking up your hand gently to hold it in mine. My heart slows when you don’t respond. “Grace?” The question seems out of the blue but-

“Yes, of course,” you answer. You take a deep breath and look at me. I can’t help but think you must be visualizing me in your head. I hope you think I look nice.

I smile at the thought, and hope that you know that, even though you can’t see me. “Come on, let’s go then.”

We get up and I call a cab, slightly triumphant even though my heart feels like it’s currently lodged in the lump in my throat. I’m fraying at the edges, trying to plan out what’s going to happen and worrying the whole way there.

But I did it. I invited you home.

 

I am nervousness embodied, standing on my own doorstep.

Taking off our shoes, I take your hand again so you can walk without your cane. You seem overwhelmed, looking around everywhere, though blindly, and trying to take things in with the rest of your senses. So overwhelmed that you forget you’re in socks and that the hardwood is slippery, especially when you can’t see where you’re going. You nearly slip, but I catch you in time.

“Careful. Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” You’re so warm in my arms and you smell like vanilla. Your hand reaches out for something to support yourself on besides me, but you brush against my neck. I stiffen. “Sorry,” you apologize.

“It’s okay. Relax, Grace.” I try to steer you towards the couch. “These floors are slippery. And I know new places are hard to take in for you.” I feel like I must be talking down to you. I’m sorry if I am. “Maybe you should take off your socks?” You take them off, squishing your toes into the carpet. Now what? Should I offer you a drink? Maybe. Should I- nope, I’m against the tour of the flat.

You run your fingers over a pillow on the couch nervously. _Let’s take it slow._

I want to be a gentleman for you, Grace.

 

I sit down next to you on the couch. You’ve gone quiet, _why?_   Why are you acting strangely?

“Everything’s alright. You’re safe here, Grace,” I say softly, hoping to calm you down if that’s what you’re worried about. We sit quietly for a moment, my thoughts wandering over to how nice you look today in a silky green blouse that brings out your eyes.

Suddenly, abruptly, I ask: “Can I kiss you?” I think you’re afraid. Afraid of this, afraid of where it’s going, afraid of me. Don’t be. _Please._

“Yes,” you say finally, and I lean in, taking the lead as I cradle your cheek in my hand. Your lips meet mine sweetly, but I can tell your mind is somewhere else. _Come back to me, Grace_.

I keep kissing you anyway, your fingers coming up to entwine themselves in my hair. Desperation makes us intense. But a few seconds later, you push me away; your hands still on my chest a moment after, like you’ve forgotten they’re there.

_Why? What’s wrong? Grace?_

I think I may have said those last two aloud.

 “I can’t do this, Mason.” Your voice is soft, tentative. Still afraid. _I’m sorry._ “I know you’re hiding something from me.”

My stomach flips over. _How did you find out?_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Critique and opinions, please!
> 
> p.s: I will write Jenna's part- I want it to be a sort of triangle fic, 3-parts, different perspectives


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